


Then I’d be alone

by cruelmagic



Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelmagic/pseuds/cruelmagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one ever tells how lonely it is—no one actually knows. But when you’re the only one, all you can do is wait. And you forget how long it took but you’re the old god and the new one is finally rising, and you are not the same as you used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then I’d be alone

**Author's Note:**

> Reinterpretation, really. The Darkling is ancient and terryfing.  
> Anna, it's for you, hope you're happy.

He is cruel but gods _get to_ be cruel, they are reborn with blood and flesh in their mouths and teeth in their clenched fists. He has centuries etched into his mind and they burn and devour him; memories of lost places and dead people swell until they burst, consuming him like ravenous fire just to fade away at dusk. He can taste the ash then, so he eats the finest meals and drinks the richest wines but there’s always something left in his throat, under his tongue—the bitterness of death that tries to get a hold of him and fails every time. He no longer fears it, but welcomes it like an old friend who always leaves at twilight.

 

He has no dreams left in him, the ones that used to haunt him don’t mean anything anymore, like a withered flower with no colour nor smell. Lives which he took without hesitation nor remorse used to clench to his skin like ghosts, but washed away over time with blood. He barely remembers that the _vulcra_ used to be humans, he never cared about it anyway.

 

No one ever tells how lonely it is—no one actually knows. But when you’re the only one, all you can do is wait. And you forget how long it took but you’re the old god and the new one is finally rising, and you are not the same as you used to be.

 

He thinks he can love her, he wanted to love her for so long now but gods don’t love. Gods desire and they take, they obsess over and possess, but they can never love. Love is a children’s play, it’s human and genuine, and pure, and dirty, and messy, and needy, it’s all those things and neither of them and gods don’t know the difference. Gods are old and they don’t love children. They don’t love girls who lasts as long as a blink of an eye.

 

“Alina,” he says and laughs. He thinks something inside him moves along with those vowels and consonants but it is not true. It’s just darkness that grows and yearns for more—not his heart.

 

He understood it once, before he forgot and lost human emotions. All he needed then was partnership, someone to share the loneliness with, an equal, but centuries of waiting turned him mad and hungry. Now he can only imagine being in love but it’s not what he’s feeling. After years, he realized that he didn’t want love anymore, but the next best thing—power. He had time, he had plenty of it, he moved slowly in the beginning, calculating every move, taking them slowly, always hungry more. And then, on the verge of having all power there is, he thought he can have it too—love of a girl powerful and hungry like him, not realizing that he became ancient, he became a god. But gods don’t love, it’s a human thing to do, and there’s no humanity left in immortals.

 

He visits her in her dreams, laughing (she still has dreams, and they seem so… little and simple). _She’s just a girl_ , sometimes he remembers, _she’s barely lived_. He lived a hundred lives and he will live a thousand more, but now she will be with him to fill the emptiness. There’s power in her, so he believes they are the same but they aren’t. They aren’t each other reflections but the opposites. He is the Darkling, the night, the darkness of the world and she’s the light, the Sun Summoner send to destroy him. He tainted her and whispered demons into her heart, promised her lies (he even believes in them now, that’s what immortality did to him). But he lived so long and he should’ve known better not to confuse love with obsession.

 

“ _Sankta Alina_ ,” the words come out of his mouth bringing a dim sparkle in his eye. She’s all he ever hoped for; she’s more. Two amplifiers on her body cause him to shiver. He wants her, he wants to lick the salt off from her pale skin, so he’ll never have to taste the ash again. He needs her moans, and screams, and whimpers begging for more in his ears, her begging hands pressing into his skin. Oh, how much he wishes to touch her, the waiting is almost insufferable now.

 

Her infatuation with the boy seemed silly at first. He’s so human, so ordinary, nothing like her. Mal, the boy from nowhere, with nothing and no prospects. He saw it, he knows how it has to play out, how the boy will understand all that, and how he’ll see her moving away and leaving him behind. He will understand how insignificant he is, despite his overwhelming love for her, and he will despair, but there’s nothing he could do, and he will die because there’s no power in him. She will mourn him, maybe she’ll even blame the Darkling, but after decades of loneliness, she’ll be with him, the only one who will never leave her. They will be gods together, they will become ancient together.

 

She will be his. He will possess her whole.

 

Sometimes he thinks that maybe he’s not a god. Maybe he’s a monster, but it makes no difference to him.


End file.
